


Diamonds and Fire Escapes

by Arches67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arches67/pseuds/Arches67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter and Neal go undercover to take down a synthetic diamonds dealer. Things turn nasty when Neal's cover is blown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamonds and Fire Escapes

Thank you to MAM711 for her wonderful betareading. If you need a thorough beta reader contact her, she's great!

Legal disclaimer: White Collar and its characters belong to Jeff Eastin. Just taking them out for a ride...

_March 2016: some slight corrections and editing of the story (Originally posted in July 2012)_

* * *

 

Peter and Neal left the car and went to the building where their meeting was due. The van was positioned two blocks away. The sun was shining brightly and a light breeze made it a day for strolling.

But the two men were not strolling.

They were undercover for a meeting that would lead them to the head of a major diamond forgery ring. They were selling high-quality synthetic diamonds, passing them as real ones. They were supposed to be undetectable. Neal was out of his anklet, wearing a watch with a GPS; Peter had left his badge in the van. Peter was posing as the buyer; Neal was his appraiser to judge the quality of the diamonds. They had wires hidden in their phones and watches to allow the team in the van to follow the exchanges.

They had been working on the case for weeks, following leads, meeting people to get them to finally agree to this last meeting, where Peter was coming to see the diamonds and close the deal. They were eager to put an end to this operation.

The nice weather had New Yorkers in light clothes though summer was still a long way off, and Neal—always one to appreciate nice things—kept stealing glances to the legs widely displayed by the short skirts the sun allowed. Peter refrained from commenting; he knew it would only spur his friend.

Neal suddenly turned his head to a young man that seemed to come right out of a GQ magazine, clothes and all.

"Seriously?" Peter mumbled.

Neal looked at him with half a smile and a raised eyebrow, daring him to comment. Peter shook his head and accelerated towards their meeting.

They entered the building. Smith— _come on_ , Neal had thought,  _he couldn't come up with a better alias?—_ their contact, took them to an office. An empty room.

"What are we doing here?" Peter asked. "I don't have any time to lose. You've been delaying us for days. I want to see those diamonds and be done with it; I have buyers waiting."

Smith didn't answer and opened a metal box. He opened his arms, showing he had no ill intentions, and asked for their watches and phones. He made no comment at Peter's gun; after all, this wasn't a nice casual business meeting. He put everything in the box, locked it and pushed a button; a light blinked.

"Sorry about this, but one can never be careful enough. This box jams all signals. Now we can talk."

"I need my phone!" Peter exclaimed.

Smith handed him the box, showing his good intentions. "You can take it as soon as the deal is closed. Meanwhile, this box remains closed."

Peter and Neal exchanged a glance. They had just lost contact with the back-up team. This was not a good beginning.

"Where are the diamonds?" Peter asked again.

"I'll take you to them."

Smith opened the door and took them to the back of the building. He opened a hidden door and went down service stairs. The two men followed him reluctantly. Peter wondered if he should stop the job. Without a back-up team, things could turn bad in minutes. On the other hand, the man had no gun.

They reached a door and entered a parking garage. Smith took them to a car.

"Smith, what is going on? Where are we going?"

"If you want to buy your diamonds, get in the car; if not the stairs on the left will get you out of the building. It's your choice."

Peter looked at Neal, then nodded and opened the door. They got in the car and left the building through a back street. The team had no way to know they had left the building. They had lost the signal and would probably be entering the building soon, but finding them would be tricky now. However, as long as he had that box, he just needed to open it and back-up would be there fast.

They drove to a warehouse area. The streets were deserted, only a few delivery trucks going forth. They stopped by an old building that had seen better days. The old residential building had been turned into offices and storage rooms. They took a couple of flights of stairs to a large room posing as an office. Carlton, the other partner, was in the room.

"I was hoping to see Mr. Deschamps," Peter said.

Deschamps was the boss, the thinker of the ring, the one they wanted to take down. It had been agreed that he would be there when the deal was closed.

"Mr. Deschamps has been delayed. He will be coming in shortly. Meanwhile, you can examine the merchandise."

They opened the briefcase resting on the table. Dozens of diamonds sparkled. At first glance they looked real. Neal took his tools and started checking them closely.

"So, Georges?" Peter asked Neal.

"Excellent… quite amazing. These are CVD diamonds and you even added minute flaws so that your buyers don't get suspicious by the extreme purity," Neal answered, genuinely surprised by the quality of the pieces. Synthetic diamonds of this quality were virtually undetectable on the market.

The door opened to a third man they hadn't met yet.

"Deschamps called; he will be coming later than planned," he said from the door. Then he looked at Neal… and Neal froze.

"Nick?"

Peter glanced at Neal who had the look of a deer facing headlights.

"Nick?" Carlton asked. "I thought your name was Georges."

"No, he's Nick Halden," the third man clarified.

Their cover had just been blown. Carlton looked at them with an angry face. He pointed a gun at them.  _Where did he get that?_  Peter thought. He was sure the guy didn't have a gun before. It was probably hidden in the briefcase.

"Care to explain?"

"Sometimes I do use a different name.…" Neal smiled nonchalantly, trying to save the situation.

"I know that guy. Met him in Barbados." He glanced at Neal's tools. "He doesn't know about diamonds."

Neal dropped the smile. Even  _he_  couldn't save that.

"Call Deschamps, tell him to hightail it here; we have a problem. As for you gentlemen, you will be our guests until we clarify this."

They were taken down a corridor to a room. Both men were roughly pushed through the door. Peter managed to break his fall and roll over; Neal crashed against the wall with a grunt. The door was promptly closed behind them with a " _we'll deal with you later_ " that didn't sound too promising.

Peter rose to his knees and shook his head to clear it. Neal was slumped against the wall, not moving.

"Neal, you're OK?" Peter asked with a frown.

"Yeah, just winded. I'm fine," Neal answered in a breathless voice.

Peter went to the door, shaking it to test for resistance.

"I'll pick that in a minute," Neal informed him.

"No, this time I don't think you will."

"Peter, I can pick any lock." Neal sounded slightly offended, then amended, "Okay, maybe I shouldn't have said that."

Peter chuckled. "I know your gifts, Neal. But this is a definite no." He smiled as he saw Neal bristle. "Neal, there's no lock to pick."

"Who puts up a door with no locks?" Neal wondered.

"Guys like you?" Peter proposed.

Neal let his head fall against the wall, not showing any signs of intending to move.

The room was used as a storage space. Shelves with boxes lined two of the walls. Peter moved some boxes full of useless junk around— _why did people store that kind of stuff anyway?_ —and checked the walls behind.

"Neal, could you give me a hand moving these? There's something behind this shelf, some sort of board over the wall."

"Uh … just give me a minute, will you?" Neal replied.

"Neal?" Peter wondered, turning around.

Neal was still sitting on the floor, a hand on his lap. He raised his eyes to Peter as he felt he was being watched.

"I … uh … when I said I was fine, I may have.…" he started hesitatingly.

"Lied?" Peter suggested.

"Slightly exaggerated?" Neal proposed with a pale copy of his usual shiny smile.

Peter came to kneel by his side. "Where are you hurting?" he asked with a worried face.

"Left shoulder…" Neal admitted.

Peter sighed. "Okay, let me check".

He helped the younger man remove his jacket. Despite being careful, Neal still hissed when he removed the sleeve from his left arm. Peter took the arm gently and probed the shoulder; Neal couldn't help a whimper.

"Neal, your shoulder is dislocated," Peter told him with a dark voice.

"Yeah, I know," Neal simply answered.

"You know?" Peter repeated with a frown.

"Well, after five times you kind of know exactly how it feels.… Doesn't lessen the pain though," Neal grunted.

"Five times…." Peter shook his head. "I don't think I want to know."

"Can you set it?" Neal asked.

"What?" Peter jumped backwards.

"Do you know how to reduce a dislocated shoulder?"

"I've never done it before, but I know the theory and I did see some videos. Our first aid trainer at Quantico had very personal ideas as to what was needed in the field." Peter shuddered slightly. "But it would be better to wait for a real doctor."

"Peter, it needs to be put back before the swelling gets too bad. You know we're not going to a hospital anytime soon.… We kind of need to get out of here first. I'll be more helpful if I can move around."

Peter looked at his friend; Neal didn't really look frightened or worried.

"Did you bump your head when they pushed you?" he asked.

"What? No. Why?"

"Well, you're taking this with surprising calm…" Peter commented.

"Just trying to focus on what has to be done. I'll scream enough later on…." Neal sighed like it was some sort of curse.

Peter opened his mouth to answer then decided against it. He swallowed hard. "Okay. You'll need to remove your shirt so that I can see your shoulder properly."

Peter loosened his tie and helped him out of his shirt. He then used the jacket as a pillow under Neal's head.

"I'm surprised you don't complain that your jacket will be all wrinkled.…" Peter joked, trying to relieve the tension.

Neal had a little smile.

"Neal, I want you to relax," he instructed his friend. He couldn't feel any release in the tension. "You've been through this before, so you know the drill. Breathe deep, relax."

Neal concentrated and breathed deeply, trying to release the tension, but knowing what was coming next didn't help.

"There, that's better. Breathe and let go."

Peter gently took his arm and bent his elbow, turning it toward his chest, making an L shape. He then slowly started to rotate the arm and shoulder outward. Neal braced himself in anticipation for the pain he knew was coming now. He had gone through this several times; none were pleasant.

"No, no, no, you're not listening to me, Neal," Peter told him with a firm voice. Then as Neal didn't comply, he scolded, "Though I don't know why I should be surprised since you always do what you want; not caring for consequences, not listening to advice or requests. Planning your little schemes and forgetting about your job at the FBI.…"

As Peter kept criticizing his behavior, Neal started to feel annoyed. He turned his head to Peter to complain about this lecture, totally uncalled for. He let go some of the tension to talk, and Peter used the distraction to finish the rotation and push. Neal screamed and his right hand went to Peter's arm in an unconscious move to stop him. Peter sighed, relieved when he felt the shoulder pop back into place.

"All right, we're good. You're lucky it worked on the first try."

Neal had his eyes scrunched shut, panting from the pain in his shoulder.

"Breathe, you'll feel better in a few minutes," Peter soothed, rubbing the area around the shoulder. "Sorry about the lecture; I needed you to let go—you were far too tense. I didn't mean it… not most of it, anyway."

"Not fair," Neal whispered through clenched teeth.

"So sue me…"

Neal expelled a shuddering breath.

"You wouldn't have any painkillers in your pocket by any chance?"

"Doubt that," Peter answered, fingering his pockets, surprised when he found what he thought was a candy. "Throat lozenge?" he proposed, looking at the packaging.

"So mean, it's not even funny," Neal answered.

He closed his eyes, weak boned.

"Neal, don't pass out, stay awake, please," Peter requested, rubbing his head.

Neal grunted.

"Talk to me; I know you're still hurting but you need to keep awake. We do need to get out of this place."

"Yeah, I know; I'm not very fond of the idea of finding out what he meant by that 'we'll deal with you' comment."

Peter racked his mind a few minutes to come up with a topic; Neal was always good at tossing out new topics but he wasn't up to the challenge.

"So, five times, huh?" Peter asked.

Neal frowned, then understood. "Counting this one, yes. And always the same shoulder.…"

"So, what happened the other times?" Peter wanted to know.

"Well, you don't have your badge right now, but I am still pleading the 5th."

"It's only a shoulder."

"You don't usually dislocate a shoulder watching TV," Neal countered.

"This wouldn't hold up in court; considering the pain, you can't be held accountable for what you say."

"Willing to give me immunity while on a case... That's good to know," Neal muttered.

Peter let a few minutes go by, and hid a grin as he asked, "So, you like boys?"

Neal only took a second to answer. "First time I was ten. Fell out of Mrs. Meyers' cherry tree."

Peter had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing out loud; he knew Neal would deflect the topic in perfect Caffrey mode; he hadn't expected him to fall back to the first question. He wasn't feeling good enough to come up with something else, apparently.

"I wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, so I actually have a much better memory of the belt on my backside than the shoulder itself."

"Your mom spanked you for falling out of a tree?" Peter was horrified.

"Joe. Mom's boyfriend at the time." Neal saw the look in Peter's face. "He was quite a decent guy. I liked him. But he was a stickler for the rules—much like you, come to think of it. Stealing cherries from your neighbors' tree was high on the list; freaking out your mom was higher."

Peter frowned. "She was probably worried, but 'freaked out'?"

"After falling out of the tree and getting my breath back, I picked myself up and went home. I was going to tell Mom I had hurt myself but I didn't make it that far; I passed out in the kitchen at her feet. That kind of freaked her out … hence the belt."

"Ouch."

"Yeah.… Mrs. Meyers was great, though. She sent me cherries. Then Joe had me mow her lawn all summer long. Rules.…"

"Gotta love them."

"Need to figure out how not to get caught. I never fell out of a tree again, and kept eating Mrs. Meyers' cherries." Neal had a fond smile on his face.

Peter smiled. He was picturing a miniature Caffrey, cheeks puffed with cherries, sitting on a branch, and a Mrs. Meyers keeping an eye on him, making sure he was okay. What neighbor would deny cherries to a face like that? He couldn't help but chuckle.

"What?" Neal asked.

"Nothing," Peter answered, sobering. "So the following time was falling off your bike?"

"No, I made sure that belt stayed in the closet as much as possible.…" His eyes took on a lost look as he went back in his memory. "The second time, and this I will definitely deny if you ever mention it, was during a heist. We had cased the building; I was coming out through the vent shafts. I was quite skinny at that time." Peter frowned, wondering how Neal could be any skinnier than he was. "Turned out a portion of the shaft was narrower than the rest. I was kind of stuck, so I kept pushing to get through and my shoulder popped out. The adrenaline kept me going for a while; I barely made it to the van though." Neal swallowed hard. "I didn't wake up for ten hours; Mozzie was about to take me to the hospital."

"You didn't go to a hospital?" Peter asked in horror.

"No, Mozzie set my shoulder. I was unconscious anyway, and he makes a good nurse.… Lots of practice," mumbled Neal.

Neal seemed lost in his thoughts for a while, eyes half closed.

"No sleeping, Neal; keep talking."

"When I said you don't usually dislocate your shoulder watching TV, I really meant the 'usually' bit. When I got stuck in the shaft, I sort of realized that time that I could probably dislocate my shoulder on my own if I needed to in the future. So one evening I was watching TV and I can't remember how it came to me but I thought that dislocating a shoulder on purpose could be useful. I just needed some practice."

Peter groaned in sympathy. "That was sick."

"Yeah, I know. I did it though. Problem was I hadn't anticipated the putting it back part. The previous times I was unconscious when my shoulder was set. I hadn't thought it could be that painful. When I realized I wouldn't be able to do it on my own, I called Mozzie. To this day, I still haven't figured out how he made it that fast to my place. He set my shoulder and I promised myself I would never do that again."

"You bet," Peter murmured.

"I thought Mozzie was going to spank me that time. Man, he was mad.…"

Neal's face turned green and sweat covered his face in a second.

"Neal?" Peter asked, worried.

"You know what, remembering all this pain is really not helping." He took a deep breath.

"Neal, do you want me to help you sit? Are you going to puke?" Peter put a hand to his shoulder, ready to lift him up.

"Trying to … fight it." Neal was breathing hard through his mouth, eyes closed. After a few minutes, the green tinge faded and his breathing got more controlled. Peter dried his face with his handkerchief and Neal smiled his thanks.

"Your turn to talk now; I'm done." Neal whispered.

Peter chuckled. "I need to keep you awake. I'm pretty sure I can put you to sleep in five seconds flat."

"Right now, probably in two," Neal managed to joke.

"Just stay with me, please."

"What did you see behind those shelves?" Neal asked, nodding toward the wall.

"There's some sort of frame over the wall, but I need help moving some of those boxes."

"Okay, help me up; let's check that."

"Neal, you're in no shape to move boxes around."

"Oh, you prefer us to just wait? Okay, let's bet. Who do you think will get here first? Jones or Deschamps?"

Peter shot him a dark look but couldn't deny the truth. His team was not about to show anytime soon. He helped Neal sit and put on his shirt. Then he removed his tie and wrapped it around Neal, keeping his arm tied to his chest. He then used Neal's to make a sling to hold his hand. Tied that way, Neal couldn't move his arm at all. He nodded in appreciation at the makeshift bandage.

"Your Quantico first aid trainer?"

"More like lots of MacGyver episodes."

Neal lifted his head in surprise, and Peter tilted his head. "What?"

"I figured you were more of a sports kind of guy."

"Usually, except when Elizabeth cons me with some chick flick.…"

Neal chuckled. He knew Elizabeth loved classics. Those chick flicks were probably vintage movies, but he wasn't going to argue about that now.

Peter helped him get up. Neal blinked a few times, feeling slightly woozy, then moved to the back of the room.

"See, there's some sort of frame here." Peter showed him the wall behind one of the boxes.

Neal looked at the wall then towards the door and frowned in concentration. "This is the back part of the building. The fire escape stairs run along this wall."

"How do you know?" Peter asked

"I saw the stairs when we came in." Trust Neal to check escape routes before entering a place.

"This is an old building; that could possibly be an old window."

"If it's closed with mortar and bricks it won't help us much."

"It could be only plywood. This is a storage place; no need for fancy work. We'll have to check it out."

Neal put a hand to a box. "Let's move these."

Peter helped him lift the box and Neal groaned as the weight made him lose his balance for a second.

"What about putting them against the door? That would stall those guys when they come back," Peter proposed.

"Now you're getting it," Neal chuckled.

By the time they removed all the boxes from the shelves, Neal was shaking, exhausted. He sat on a box and set his head against the wall, breathing hard. Peter cast him a worried glance and gritted his teeth; he couldn't do anything for his friend for the moment.

The shelves were simply held by the racks, not even secured by bolts or screws. Peter quickly removed them. He then searched the boxes looking for anything that would help him pry the wooden board from the wall. Finding nothing better, he settled for a screwdriver and pushed it between the wall and the board.

"Did you knock on it to check if there actually is a window behind?" Neal asked, standing by his side. Peter jumped in surprise, he hadn't heard him approaching.

"Can't be more stealthy, can you?" he complained, bothered that Neal could still approach him unnoticed.

Neal smiled in answer and banged the board. They both smiled as a hollow sound confirmed their theory. Some splinters and curses later, Peter managed to tear the wooden board from the wall. Old windowpanes covered in grime let very little light filter in.

"Okay!" Neal rejoiced, moving forward to open the window. He stopped suddenly to look at Peter. "I hope nobody was listening too closely," he said, a bit worried.

"The boxes should hold them for a little while. Let's get out of this place."

Peter put his head through the hole to check their situation. The stairs were on their left, their window clearly not meant to give access to them. A narrow ledge lined the wall; he could probably walk the few feet to reach the stairs. But he sure couldn't figure out how Neal would manage that with only one arm to hold on with.

"Ever wanted to be Spider-Man?" he asked Neal, bringing his head back into the room.

"Blue tights would definitely ruin my style," Neal replied with a mock shudder of disgust. "Now, Batman on the other hand…"

"God help us! Caffrey with Batman's toys…" Peter chuckled.

"You would have never caught me and we wouldn't be here now!" Neal concluded with a big smile. "So what's with the superheroes?"

"The stairs are beside the next window. There's a narrow ledge to reach them. I just don't see how you're going to manage that with your busted shoulder."

Neal put his head through the hole and checked for himself. "Should be okay," he said, bringing his head back inside.

Peter opened his eyes wide. "Excuse  _me_?"

"Yeah. You go first. You can give me a hand from the stairs. That way I'll have less distance to cover and I can hold on to you with my right hand."

"Neal, how are you going to hold on?"

"Cat burglar, remember?" Neal joked.

Peter winced, not convinced, and went first. They were only on the third floor but he refrained from looking down. He put a foot down and went out the window. The ledge was about as wide as his shoe. Holding one hand on the windowsill and the other clinging to the wall, he moved slowly towards the fire escape stairs. It was a short distance. He still had the tips of his fingers on the window's edge when he managed to grab the fire escape. He sighed, relieved, and got closer, hanging on. He put a leg over the guardrail and turned to Neal.

"Your turn. You're sure you can hold on?" he asked, worried.

"We'll soon find out," Neal mumbled.

He stepped through the window and put his foot on the ledge. He took a deep breath and got his other leg out. His right hand sticking to the wall, using the slightest roughness to hold on to, he slowly slid along the wall. He could feel perspiration sliding down his back; he tried not to think about the two floors beneath his feet, and the fact that he had virtually nothing to hold on to. He sighed, relieved, when he felt Peter's hand on his.

"Thanks.…" he whispered.

From there, he moved a bit faster, Peter holding him now with both hands. He finally made it to the stairs and easily strode over the guardrail. He sat heavily; his legs were shaking.

"Neal?" Peter asked, worried.

"I haven't done that in a long time. Getting too old for this.…" Neal sighed deeply.

Peter gave him a hand to rise and they went down the stairs quickly. When they arrived to the ladder at the lowest level they couldn't move the hinge. Peter wrestled the piece but the ladder didn't move.

"This is supposed to be a fire escape, for god's sake! What's the point if it doesn't work?"

"Peter, getting angry won't fix it. This building is used as a warehouse; nobody cares about these stairs."

He looked over the guardrail. "We can go down the ladder, then jump from there. It's not that high."

Peter went first again. To reduce the height of the jump, he went down the ladder's last steps holding on with just his hands. He finally dropped, probably barely over four feet. He looked up. Neal wouldn't be able to go down with his arms; he would need to jump from higher. He could see in Neal's face that he had realized that too.

"Batman's toys would come handy now…" the con mumbled.

"I'm here; I'll catch you."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for me to fall on top of you.…"

"Just saving myself some trouble. I'd really hate to go through all that paperwork if you break your neck."

Neal went down the ladder as far as he could. He folded his knees, crouching facing the ladder. He exhaled deeply, cast a glance down, and jumped. Peter stopped his fall and they both rolled to the ground. Peter stood, grunting, and went to Neal, still lying on the ground. Peter put a hand to his arm. The younger man was breathing heavily, obviously fighting back tears.

"Neal, your shoulder.…"

"Fine," he gasped. "It didn't move." He exhaled deeply and turned around to get up.

Peter gave him a hand to stand and winced when Neal pulled to rise. Neal frowned, looking at him. "How many of your ribs did I break?" He shook his head when he saw Peter about to deny it. "Peter.…"

"Not necessarily broken, probably bruised, maybe cracked."

"Peter, I know how much I weight. Add the height and my obvious lack of agility, your ribs didn't stand a chance."

The agent shook his head and didn't comment. Neal could most probably give him the exact math to prove that the strength of the impact was greater than the strength of his ribs.

"Let's find a phone," he said, walking toward a larger street.

The narrow street they were on crossed a larger road with more activity than the deserted place they had jumped to. They found a payphone on the following block.

"Well, at least our luck is finally turning," Peter exclaimed.

Neal raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Working payphone on the first try?" Peter exclaimed with a smile as he searched his pockets for change.

Neal chuckled and put a pick to the phone.

"Neal!"

"What? I don't have change. You wanna call 911? The team in the van will be here faster.…" Neal dialed the number and handed the receiver to Peter who shot him a dark look.

Neal didn't need a loudspeaker to hear the cheering on the other end. Peter explained where they were and asked the teams to step in. They had enough evidence to close this case. The kidnapping was an added bonus. He gave the last instructions and hung up.

Relieved and quite tired, they leaned against the wall, keeping an eye on the building they had just escaped and waited for the FBI team to barge in.

"Sorry that my cover got blown."

"What were you doing in Barbados?"

"Lots of nice places for snorkeling.…"

"Neal.…"

"No, really. And the water is just amazing, turquoise and warm, wide beaches. Friendly locals…."

Peter looked at him, then decided to drop it. Neal wasn't going to talk; he had made that clear.

A few minutes later, the sirens announced the end of the diamonds op. The two men stood aside, letting the teams enter the building and come out with their cuffed prisoners.

Diana came to them, a smile on her lips. She had Peter's badge and Neal's anklet in one hand.

"Glad to see you, boss. We were worried." She took a look at their bedraggled appearance, checking the torn and dirty clothes. "How did you manage to get out?"

"Spider-Man gave us a hand," Neal explained with a smile.

Diana raised an eyebrow and realized she wouldn't get any further information for the moment. "That's a report I'll be eager to read."

She gave Peter his badge and brandished Neal's anklet in front of his nose. He was still leaning against the wall, not at his best. She knelt to put the anklet on.

"I knew some day I'll have you down on your knees to me."

"Caffrey, there's enough give in this anklet to put it quite tight. Zip it!" Diana exclaimed, shooting him a dark look.

Neal took his hand to his mouth and pulled an imaginary zipper.

They heard the siren of an ambulance getting closer.

"There are casualties? We have a guy down?" Peter asked, looking toward the swarm of agents.

"No, they actually went down nicely. Not that they had much of a choice," Diana answered.

Neal grunted. "The ambulance is for us, Peter."

"But…" Peter started.

Diana looked at them, appraising their postures. "Boss, the way you're holding that arm around your chest is a bit unusual. And Neal, unless I missed last month's issue of GQ, the way you're using those ties looks pretty unconventional to me."

"Neal dislocated his shoulder."

"Peter has broken ribs."

Diana shook her head, trying to hide a smile at the way both men tried to hide their own injuries, then turned toward the medics to catch their attention.

Unwillingly, Peter let his agents wrap the case and got into the ambulance with Neal. Before the door was closed, he asked Diana to call his wife. They still didn't have their phones back. They would probably end up with the evidence being gathered at the warehouse; they would have to wait a few days before getting them back.

The ambulance left them at the ER entrance and both men filled out forms before being admitted, Neal complaining that working for the FBI was starting to be more dangerous than his previous life.

The X-rays showed that Peter indeed had two broken ribs and a cracked one. Lying on the gurney, he briefly wondered if Neal could calculate the strength of the impact. A nurse came to wrap his ribs, then the doctor handed him a prescription.

"Not much you can do about broken ribs. Take care of yourself and stick to desk duty for two weeks at least," the doctor ordered.

"How is Neal doing?" Peter asked.

"Your partner?" Peter nodded. "He should be here in a minute, but I wasn't the doctor treating him. You'll need to wait for him."

Neal arrived on a gurney moments later. He was asleep. His left arm was bent at the elbow and held with an external rotation splint. Peter jumped up at seeing the unusual brace, and grunted when his ribs complained.

"Doctor?"

"Agent Burke, right?" Peter confirmed. "Mr. Caffrey has told us we could discuss his status with you."

"Is there a problem?"

"He told us this is not the first time he's dislocated his shoulder. There comes a time when you need to have surgery to repair the damage. He wouldn't hear it."

"I'm not really surprised," Peter murmured.

"If you can convince him, it would be a good thing to have it done. We put him on an external rotation brace; they're actually much more effective for dislocated shoulders. It proves a little bit more awkward than traditional slings though." The doctor took a look at the form he had in his hand. "He will need somebody to take care of him, at least for the next few days."

"He can come home with us," Elizabeth stated from the entrance.

Peter beamed at her. "Honey!"

She rushed to his side. "Peter, how are you doing?" Then she turned to the doctor, thinking she would get a more accurate answer. "Doctor, how is he doing?"

The doctor had an amused smile. "Mrs. Burke I assume?" Elizabeth nodded. "Your husband is as well as one can be with two broken ribs. You'll be able to pamper him for a few days," he added with a wink.

Elizabeth turned to Peter to hug him, then realized it could be painful and settled with giving him a light peck on the cheek. She looked at Neal on the next gurney.

"What about Neal?" she asked.

The doctor looked at Peter: Neal had given approval for Peter to access Neal's medical records; that didn't include Elizabeth.

"Your husband will fill you in, but he's fine. As I was saying, he'll need somebody to help him while he's wearing that brace. Once he's in a sling, it'll be easier." Elizabeth nodded. "You may want to hire a nurse to help him bathe. The painkillers knocked him out but he should be waking up soon. I'll check on him to make sure everything is all right, then he can leave the hospital."

Peter and Elizabeth thanked him and he left. The beautiful woman turned to her husband and hugged him delicately. She sighed as she rubbed his back softly.

"Don't ever do that again.…"

"It's only ribs, honey."

"You  _and_  Neal in the hospital, at the same time," Elizabeth explained.

Peter took her chin with two fingers and gave her a light kiss.

"I'll try," he promised.

Elizabeth stood back and looked for her husband's clothes. She winced when she took the torn and messy pants and shirt. She came to Peter to help him get dressed. He sat on the gurney while she got his legs in the pants, then he rose to finish putting them on.

"Honey, I can manage on my own."

She planted a kiss on his nose. "You don't usually complain when I remove them," she teased.

"El!" Peter scolded with a twist of his head toward Neal.

"Relax, he's asleep."

"No … not anymore," a voice murmured from the adjoining cart.

Peter blushed and Elizabeth winked at him. She turned to Neal and smiled sweetly.

"Neal, how are you doing, sweetie?"

Neal raised his head to look at his chest and arm. "What's that thing? Don't they do slings anymore?"

"Not when you turn down surgery," Peter said in a reproachful tone.

Neal groaned. "Are they still letting me out?" he asked shyly.

"Yes, but you cannot be on your own," Elizabeth answered. "We're taking you to our place."

Neal grunted, then realized it wasn't very polite. "Thank you, Elizabeth; that's very nice. But you have to take care of Peter; you really don't want to have an extra charge. I'd rather go back to June's place."

"Is Mozzie around?" Peter asked, understanding the need for Neal to keep some of his privacy.

Neal shrugged, or at least tried to. "I guess. I don't know what he's up to these days. I'll need to call him …" He grunted again. "... and I don't have a phone."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "We'll use mine as soon as we get out. Mobile phones are not allowed in this section of the hospital."

A pretty young nurse came in. "Mr. Caffrey, I'm here to help you get dressed."

Neal flashed a brilliant smile and Peter rolled his eyes. Elizabeth slapped his arm.

The doctor came back to check on Neal and gave him a prescription. Besides the painkillers, he had to set up appointments to check his shoulder and have the brace removed. Finally ready, each with his own bag of medicines, they left the hospital.

When they got to the car, Neal turned to Elizabeth with an expectant look on his face. She pulled out her cell phone.

"Are you sure you don't want to come home?" she asked again.

"It will be much easier for you." He looked at Peter who was frowning as he realized he had to travel in the passenger seat. "And if I stay at your place, I'm sure Peter will give me files to work on."

He dialed a number which went straight to voicemail. "Hi, Mozz, it's me. Can you call me back on this number? I need some help."

He was about to hang up when Elizabeth grabbed the phone from his hands. "Mozzie, this is Elizabeth. We are leaving the hospital now and I'm driving Neal to our place. Please call us as soon as possible."

Neal whined, putting his head in his hand. With such a message, Mozzie was bound to storm in in full Florence Nightingale gear.

"Neal, since you don't know what Mozzie is up to, you can wait for him at our place. If he shows up, you can take a cab back to your place; if not you can use the guest room." She put the phone in her purse and sat behind the driving wheel. She made it clear she wouldn't accept any argument.

Elizabeth drove Peter's Taurus, which had been brought in by an agent. Neal tried to make himself comfortable in the back of the car and Peter refrained from making comments on his wife's driving.

Neal cast him an amused glance when they arrived. Peter shot him a dark look and murmured in a low voice, "I didn't say a word."

"You thought it so loud there was actually an echo in the car!" Neal countered. He gave Elizabeth a sweet smile when she turned to him.

They entered the house and Elizabeth helped them sit on the couch. Peter fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable position, then pulled his hand through his hair, grumbling.

"I have wood chips in my hair!" he complained. Then he looked down at his clothes. "I need a shower!"

Elizabeth looked at him. "I don't think it's wise to remove that wrap around your ribs so soon."

"But honey…" Peter complained.

"I guess I can wash your hair and give you a sponge bath..." She gave him a hand and Peter stood with a wince. "Neal, do you need anything before I go take care of Peter?"

"No, thanks; I'll be fine.

She gave him the remote for the TV and went with Peter to the bathroom. Neal surfed the channels, finding nothing of interest. He finally settled on a documentary about Versailles Palace –Peter was bound to say he was casing the place, but he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the couch, lulled by the speaker's voice.

He must have dozed a moment, and woke up to Elizabeth's phone ringing. Mozzie was calling back.

"Hi, Mozz."

"Neal?" Mozzie's voice was surprised. "Why are you answering Elizabeth's phone?"

"Long story.…"

"Did Elizabeth talk about a hospital? What insane job did the Suit send you to this time?"

"Mozz—" Neal stopped him before the little man started a full rant against the agent. His voice must have betrayed him because Mozzie's voice changed.

"Neal, are you hurt? What happened to you?"

"Dislocated shoulder.…"

"Again? You really should be more careful.…"

"It's not as if I did it on purpose." Neal didn't stop, not wanting Mozzie to tell him it wouldn't be the first time. "Mozzie, would you have some time for me? They wrapped me like … I don't know, totally exaggerated if you ask me.… Anyway, I'll need some help for a few days. Elizabeth says I can stay here, but I don't want to impose, especially since Peter is hurt too."

"What kind of mess did you both get into? What did they do to him?"

"Actually …  _I_  broke his ribs."

"Did you hit him?" Mozzie's voice was halfway between surprise and pleasure.

"No, he kind of … cushioned my fall." Neal explained briefly the events of the afternoon.

Elizabeth was coming down the stairs. "Is that Mozzie?" she asked.

"Yes, I took the liberty of answering," Neal apologized.

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth responded, and took the phone from his hands.

"Mozzie, did Neal tell you what happened? – Right, that's it, he's going to need you – No, thanks, that's fine – Yes, okay.…"

Hearing only half of the conversation was worrying, and Neal winced. Thinking that Mozzie and Elizabeth were planning his recuperation was unsettling. He was bound to get stuck between two mother hens. Elizabeth left the room and went to the kitchen. Now he couldn't hear anything at all, and that was even worse.

"Plotting against you?" Peter asked, amused, coming slowly down the stairs.

Neal winced. "I'm expecting the worst.…"

Peter sat by his side, wiggling to find a comfortable position.

"I'm sorry about your ribs, Peter."

"Not your fault." Peter looked at him. "You're heavier than you look."

"I don't know what to make of that comment," Neal said with a smile.

"Just a statement from somebody who had firsthand experience. How are you doing? Is your shoulder hurting?

"No, I'm okay. This thing is pretty effective; I feel no tension at all."

Elizabeth came back with a wide smile on her lips.

"Mozzie is coming with dinner," she told them. "Then he'll stay at your place for a few days."

Neal cast a glance to Peter and mouthed 'plotting'.

Elizabeth looked at them adoringly. They were sitting side by side, both wearing a rather weary expression on their faces and in positions that hinted that sitting wasn't that comfortable.

"You need anything?" she asked them.

"No, thanks, I'm fine," Peter answered.

"I'm good."

"Okay, I'll be upstairs. Yell if you need anything."

"Sure."

"Will do."

They watched her leave the room and remained silent; the documentary on Versailles Palace was coming to an end.

"Casing your next heist?" Peter asked, tilting his head toward the TV.

Neal chuckled. "A little bit out of my radius.…"

"So, you never told me about that fourth time..."

"What fourth time?" Neal asked not understanding the sentence.

"Your shoulder..." Peter patiently explained, not fooled for a second.

"Oh, that..." Neal chuckled. "Yeah... Well, let's just say that you're going to need to get me very drunk to tell you..."

Peter scoffed but didn't insist. He knew which battles were worth fighting.

They remained in silent for a moment watching the TV.

Some time later, Peter looked at Neal with an embarrassed look. "Neal, can I ask you something?"

Neal looked at him, surprised. Peter didn't usually bother with pleasantries and asked the questions straightforwardly.

"Yes, of course.

"It's kind of personal.…"

"I'm sure I can deflect if it's too personal.…" Neal answered with a proud smile.

"Yeah … I … uh … when … do you…?"

Neal frowned at this sudden lack of articulateness from Peter, then had an amused smile when he realized what he was trying to say.

"No."

"No? but.…" Again Peter seemed to be having trouble forming a full sentence.

This time Neal didn't help him out. This was getting funny; seeing Peter trip over his tongue was quite unusual.

"The way you checked him out.…" Peter said blushing slightly.

"Jacket… Those haven't made it to the US market yet."

Peter blushed deeper. "But then, when I asked you … you…"  _deflected so fast it was an admission_ , thought Peter.

"I figured talking about fashion wouldn't keep you interested." Neal looked at him. "Did it bother you?"

"No, I don't care.… More like surprised.…"

This time Neal couldn't help a smug smile. Peter squinted his eyes, staring at him, then got an angry look.

"You were conning me the whole time.…" he spat.

The smugness increased on Neal's face. "Guess I still have it, dislocated shoulder or not."

"Caffrey!"

Back at June's place, Mozzie helped Neal put on pajama pants and wash some, then left him alone in the bathroom. Neal came out a little while later. He looked at his arm with a wince; that thing was going to prove very awkward.

"You make a nice looking Robocop," chirped Mozzie.

"What's with comics today?" Neal muttered too low for Mozzie to hear.

"You're moving with just the same grace.…"

Neal shot him a dark look.

"And the color in your face is just perfect for an android," murmured Mozzie. "Neal, please go to bed; you look like death warmed over. And take whatever pills you need to."

Neal went straight to his bed without commenting, which was saying how he felt. Mozzie filled a glass of water and brought the paper bag with the medicines. He put the glass on the nightstand and opened the bag.

"And here's more proof that our medical system isn't interested in treating the sick," Mozzie ranted in full conspiracy tone.

Neal, sitting on the bed's edge, pulled back a little, both surprised and worried.

Mozzie shook a container. "Child-resistant packaging? For a guy who can't even pull his own pants up?"

Neal winced. He was going to be wearing sweat pants for a while...

Mozzie took a pill and handed it to Neal, then the glass of water. Neal lay down on his back and realized that it wouldn't be comfortable with his arm sticking out. He reached over to grab a pillow but Mozzie beat him to it. Neal turned on his right side. Mozzie put the pillow by Neal's side and carefully settled the arm on it. He then covered him, in full mother-hen fashion.

"Mozz.…" Neal complained slightly.

"What?" Voice tense.

"Thank you." Voice resigned.

"Now, about that surgery.…" Mozzie started.

"What surgery?" Neal asked in an innocent tone. Mozzie shot him a dark look and Neal deflated. "Oh, Elizabeth.…"

Between the two of them, he didn't stand a single chance. He could try Peter, playing the "being needed at the office" card, but Peter didn't stand a single chance either in the face of Elizabeth. He was doomed.… He still tried to deflect the lecture. "Your timing is perfect, though," he added.

"Timing?"

"You know perfectly well how much drugs mess me up. You're going to force a promise from me when I barely remember my name."

"Your shoulder needs that surgery. It is stupid to reject it."

"I don't like hospitals.…" Neal complained.

"Remember that time you dislocated your shoulder on purpose at your place?" Mozzie asked.

Neal winced. "Yeah.…"

Mozzie raised his hand to show his thumb and forefinger an eight of an inch apart, "I was this close to spanking you for doing something that stupid."

"I know, Mozz, I know," Neal answered in a soft voice.

"Good, glad we're clear."

"I know, 'don't do anything stupid', got it," repeated Neal, falling asleep.

Mozzie nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. He liked having the last word.

* * *

 

_The end_

 

* * *

So this was supposed to end there, then a reviewer asked for Neal to have the surgery and be mother-henned to death by Elizabeth. It seems that I cannot resist a prompt…<br />

Okay, so here it is. Neal will make it through alive (barely).<br />

* * *

 

Neal pushed the glass door to the White Collar office open. Diana and Jones were discussing a file at her desk. They raised their heads and smiled hello, immediately going back to the screen they were watching. Peter was coming down the stairs from his office, a smile on his lips.

"Hello, Neal! Right on time."

"I usually am," the con man answered with a smile.

"Keep your hat; we're going out," Peter said, pushing the door to the hall.

"New case?"

"Yes." Peter pushed the button to call the elevator.

"Care to share?" Neal asked when Peter remained silent.

The doors of the elevator opened with a chime.

"We've been contacted by the CEO of the St. Clair Clinic. He found financial irregularities in the accounts and he thinks there's some sort of scam going on with the patients. It would seem somebody is charging for treatments that do not make it to the clinic's accounting.…

"A doctor asking for extra payments in cash?"

"Maybe. We need to do some digging." Peter looked at Neal. "How's your shoulder?"

Neal frowned, surprised at the non sequitur. It had been several weeks since his accident. Peter had stopped asking him how he was feeling, taking it for granted that he was fully recovered.

"Fine."

"No… let me rephrase that," Peter answered, staring at him. "Wouldn't you like to have a doctor's opinion, say, as… a follow-up?"

Neal smiled in understanding. "Actually, now that you mention it, I kind of feel it when I'm swimming on my back…"

"Okay then, let's go see a doctor," Peter replied with a wink.

They left the FBI building and entered Peter's car. On the way, he gave some additional information to Neal. "Our prime suspect is a doctor with a private consult on 7th Avenue."

"If he has private clients, it's going to be difficult to trace the payments." Neal frowned, trying to think how they would follow the invoices.

"Not when the surgery is done at the clinic."

"So we're seeing a surgeon?"

"Yes."

"How come I haven't been involved in this case so far?" Neal asked. "I have no background on this; you're not making it easy for me, Peter."

"I needed you on the forgeries case. Jones and Diana have been working on this case for weeks now with our financial geeks. You'll catch up. Anyway, I'm doing the interview; you're just my excuse."

They had arrived to the building and Neal grumbled a little as he got out of the car. He didn't like working with no information.

They entered an upscale building housing very select offices and went to the elevators. They were admitted into a nice waiting room. It was still early in the morning; nobody else was there. Neal entertained himself by looking at the watercolors on the walls. He caught Peter looking at him.

"What? Only looking. I do like art, you know."

The secretary telling them they could enter the doctor's office saved Peter from an answer. A man in his fifties, with a nice white coat over an expensive suit, rose to greet them.

"Ah, Mr. Caffrey, I'm glad you could make it."

Neal opened his eyes wide and looked at Peter. The agent was the picture of innocence. Neal frowned and looked back at the doctor, then at the desk. There was a file with his name on it.

"Peter?" he asked, a bit on edge, not knowing what was going on.

"Yes, Neal?" Peter said, still radiating innocence.

"What are we really doing here?" His voice was rising now.

Peter didn't answer but couldn't help a smug smile on his face. Neal frowned as he understood.

"This was a setup?" he asked. He scrunched his eyes, gritting his teeth. "Well done, you conned the con man; I should probably congratulate you.…"

"I had the best teacher," Peter explained, still pretty proud of himself. He could tell Neal was really mad, or he would be the one wearing the smug smile now.

The doctor was silent. Peter had seen him before to explain the problem.

Once Neal was free of the sling and back to work, he had made it clear that he wouldn't have the surgery. Mozzie and Elizabeth had tried to persuade him repeatedly. At some point Neal had left the Burke's house, banging the door, complaining that he could make his own decisions and if they weren't happy with it they might as well send him back to prison. Neal had apologized for his outburst, sending Elizabeth a huge bouquet of flowers, and around beers one evening on the terrace, Peter had agreed not to broach the subject again.

But Peter being Peter, he could not not worry, so he had done some research and talked to his own doctor, then to a specialist. The different conversations made it clear that surgery was not really optional. That was when Peter decided to take matters into his hands and force a meeting with the surgeon. He was hoping that once the real risks of leaving his shoulder as it was had been explained to him, Neal was smart enough to realize the necessity and cave in. He wasn't very proud of having to fool him to get him to the appointment, but it was for Neal's own good. Peter had met with the doctor and explained Neal's reluctance to undergo the surgery. He had taken care of all the legal documents, including insurance and costs, and the surgeon had agreed to set up an appointment to meet Neal to discuss the problem.

The surgeon came forward now. He had a soft voice and spoke gently, keeping a reassuring distance from Neal. He gestured to a chair and went to sit behind his desk.

"Mr. Caffrey, since you are here, why don't you please sit down? Let me explain the facts to you; in the end, it will be your decision. You can leave through that door anytime you wish."

"Neal, I can leave if you'd prefer," Peter said softly.

Neal let his shoulders drop, defeated, and sat on the chair. "No, you can stay. You staged all this; the least I can do is let you enjoy it."

"Neal, I—" Peter started to apologize, but Neal stopped him with his hand.

"Peter, just sit, please. Doctor, I'm all ears."

The doctor took his time explaining the reasons why the surgery was needed, answering every question Neal had, clarifying the recovery time, the risks at delaying it much further. Peter kept silent; Neal had to make the decision and battle whatever inner demons made him hate hospitals so much.

Having been given the necessary information, they left the doctor's office and went back to the FBI building. Neal had yet to say a single word since the appointment was over. He entered the office and went to his desk.

"Neal, my office," Peter instructed, going toward the stairs.

Neal sighed, but followed him. Peter let him enter first, and closed the door. He leaned back against the door, as if he needed to make sure Neal wouldn't try to leave.

"Neal, I—"

Neal interrupted him. "Peter, please—"

"No, you listen to me. I apologize for lying to you about that meeting. I'm not very proud of the way I did it.…"

"You looked pretty smug to me," Neal commented.

"Only that you didn't see through it from the beginning, not of doing it."

Peter looked at him with serious eyes. Yes, he had been quite proud at conning the great Caffrey; he wouldn't have bet on that. He was not very proud of having lied to him, although he would do it again in a blink of an eye if it was to save his life.

"Neal, since you don't seem to be able to take care of yourself, I had to take the responsibility for it."

"I am fully capable—"

"Neal, let me finish. You heard the doctor; this is serious stuff. If you want to keep working with me I need you in good shape. I can't be worrying that the slightest shove is going to hurt your shoulder." Neal tried to stop him again and he sent him a dark look. "You know that's the risk. You may be willing to take it; I'm not."

Neal remained silent and Peter went to sit on his chair.

"Neal, why do you hate hospitals so much?" he asked in a soft voice.

"Nobody 'likes' them," Neal grumbled.

"No, of course not. But in your case it's almost phobic; I don't get it."

"Mozzie hates them more than I do."

"Because he wants to escape the system, which I'll admit proves difficult in a hospital. You're not that paranoid."

Neal looked at him with a lost look. If Peter hadn't been looking intently he might have missed it. A flicker went through the eyes of his friend, vanished before it was even there. Suddenly it all made sense.

The con man had been running most of his life. His health, his body, his good shape were paramount to what he did. Getting stuck in a hospital was almost as bad as going to prison, probably even worse when it was your body that didn't cooperate and you were totally vulnerable.

He thought back to what Neal had told him when they were locked in the storage room. That Mozzie made a good nurse. He was probably much more than a good nurse. He shivered slightly, thinking of how far he may have gone to patch up his friend … or himself for that matter. Now that he thought about it, Neal was probably good at it too. He remembered how collected Neal had remained when he had realized his shoulder was dislocated, how he rode the pain as if it was just a minor discomfort. God knew what he had been through before. Well, he had seen him climbing trees with a day-old gunshot to his leg.…

"It's different now. You know you're safe," he said softly.

"I ran away when I was eighteen, Peter; it's become an instinct. It's not going to change overnight."

Peter nodded. "I understand. Let's do this step by step, overcome your fears one at a time, okay?"

Neal shrugged slightly, not denying the fear.

"If you'll allow me, I'll be by your side all the way. Neal.…" He waited for the younger man to look at him. "Let's make that appointment, okay?"

Neal sighed then nodded. He rose from his chair to go back to his desk.

"Oh, and Neal..." Neal turned back from the door. "Take it easy in the swimming pool."

Neal opened his mouth to deny, then couldn't help a chuckle. "Too bad you chose the wrong side of the law, Peter; we would have made a great team.…"

Peter smiled and made a shooing motion with his hand. "You have a mortgage fraud case on your desk; go work."

Once he had accepted going through with the surgery, Neal tried to do his best not to run. Peter, giving him the necessary time off to deal with appointments, was always around—not hovering, just close enough—to put a hand on his shoulder, nod his head or give him a smile. Never pushing him, but present and reassuring.

He drove Neal to the clinic the day of the surgery and was by his side when he woke up. The surgery went just fine. Elizabeth dropped by to tell him everything was planned for his return and recovery. He was glad he was going back to his place. For a moment, he had been pretty sure Elizabeth would insist that he stay at their place. After two nights at the hospital, he was eager to sleep in his own bed.

Elizabeth had indeed planned everything, her background as event planner being put to use to organize Neal's recovery. At the hospital, the doctor had said that Neal would need somebody to help him for the first few days. His arm would be in a sling for about six weeks before starting physical therapy. After a couple of weeks, he would start to feel better and would probably manage on his own for most daily tasks. Ruffling his hair, Elizabeth had jokingly told Neal not to worry, that she was going to "mother-hen him to death". He had smiled his thanks, not knowing yet that Elizabeth meant it … almost literally, if anyone asked him.

The first two days went nicely. Neal was pretty heavily medicated and sleeping most of the time. Having somebody around taking care of everything was just fine. Anyway, he was too out of it to do more than eat, sleep and take the necessary trips to the bathroom.

By the third day, he found that staying awake was less of a challenge, and he really took note of what Elizabeth had meant when she had said that she had planned it all.

Mozzie, happy to sample Neal's wine collection, had the night shift. He helped him dress and undress, wash and shave, which was fine; his shoulder was still tender, and he found the less he moved it the better.

Then June appeared with breakfast, but no coffee. Apparently it was on top of Elizabeth's "no-no" list. Okay, the tea was really good and the pancakes fluffy so he didn't complain. She reappeared for a morning snack and then for lunch. Neal wondered if he had lost weight to justify so much food.

Elizabeth appeared in the afternoon, with four o'clock tea and homemade cookies. Later she prepared dinner … and cut his food in pieces small enough for a two-year old baby. She had such an adoring sweet smile as she fussed over him that he didn't have the heart to say anything.

Nonetheless, day three was kind of a bit blurry, with him needing less sleep but still taking a few naps, and actually finding out how his recovery had been organized, so it went by nicely.

Day four was a repeat of day three, and Neal wondered if he was ever going to be allowed to move from the bed to the couch without somebody hovering over him. He was tired of the cotton-head feeling the drugs gave him, and his shoulder was not really hurting that bad, so when Mozzie brought him his painkillers in the morning, he turned them down.

"Neal, you're supposed to take these for at least ten days..."

"I'll keep taking the antibiotics, don't worry. But my shoulder is fine; I don't need the painkillers now. They make me feel fuzzy."

"They're prescription. It's too early to stop taking them; you had surgery only six days ago, Neal. And don't tell me you're not hurting."

"Not that bad; not enough to justify drugs, anyway."

"Neal. How long have we known each other?" Mozzie looked at Neal with a serious face and didn't wait for an answer. "Don't think you can obfuscate with me. I know you are still in pain; I can see it in your eyes."

"And here I was, thinking only women had a thing for my eyes.…" Neal murmured.

"Neal, you know you can't redirect with me."

Neal sighed, defeated. "It's not that bad, Mozz. Really. And you know 'a little bit of pain is good for the soul'."

"Yeah, whatever. We are talking physical pain here, and that definitely is not good for your body. If you have it working double time to heal and fight the pain, it's going to take you longer to get better."

"Mozz, please.…" Neal was getting tired of this conversation.

"Anyway, I'm not giving you a choice. You either take them voluntarily, or I'll force them down you."

"What? You're going to keep you hand over my mouth until you're sure I either swallow them or they melt?"

Mozzie went to his satchel. "I have other means. All I need is to make one phone call and I'll get an injectable version of your painkillers in minutes.…" He turned around, holding a syringe.

Neal blanched; he didn't doubt Mozzie knew the right people to get the stuff. "You're kidding, right?"

Mozzie raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not letting you stick me with a needle."

"I'll do it if I have to; you're in no shape to put up much of a fight." Mozzie was serious as death.

Neal took a glass of water and swallowed the pills, muttering about nurses with delusions of grandeur and wondering when Elizabeth had organized "the" meeting to have things run the way she wanted them.

Day five was a copy of day four with the exception of Neal trying to find Mozzie's syringe in order to get rid of it. But he couldn't find it. Not surprising of course. Mozzie knew him better than anyone; he wasn't going to leave stuff that Neal could get his hands on. So he suffered in silence, not even feeling in the mood to draw or paint. He spent most of the day on the terrace, looking at the sky and the buildings, cursing the day he had relented to Peter and accepted the surgery.

His texts to Peter were the only thing that kept him sane. Peter seemed to be perfectly aware of the extensive mother-henning but couldn't do much about it. "Fight against June and Elizabeth? Even Quantico doesn't train for that." Neal wondered if Peter would show up if he sent a text saying 'Help!'. Most probably not. Peter would call any of his three avenging angels to check what was wrong … and tell him that some people needed to work.

On day six, Neal was sitting on the couch reading when Elizabeth combed her fingers through his hair. He jumped in surprise at the intimate gesture.

"Neal, your hair is a mess."

Neal winced. He still couldn't get his left arm high enough to wash his hair, so most of the time he just wet it down.

"Is Mozzie washing your hair?" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer. "Of course he is. And he has no idea how to take care of these curls."

Before Neal had time to answer, she had vanished into the bathroom. She fussed around with towels, a stool and a pitcher, then called Neal. Okay, so the hair washing was nice. And the head massage had him almost moaning in pleasure before he remembered who was doing it. Her insisting on blow-drying it almost made him snap. He gritted his teeth and endured the pampering. And, well … his hair did look better, so he couldn't really complain.

Day seven, Peter was working on a file when he received a distressed call from Elizabeth.

"Honey, Neal is gone!"

Peter felt his heart try to escape through his ribs. "What!?"

"He was taking a nap and I went to check on him.… He was gone! He has his anklet right? Can you find him?" Elizabeth was on the brink of tears.

His hands working faster than his mind, Peter already had Neal's anklet data on his screen. The dot bleeped obediently at June's place. For one second, Peter's mind created mad schemes of how Neal had gotten out of the anklet, then he remembered the desperate texts from Neal and he sighed, relieved.

"Honey, calm down," he said softly to Elizabeth. "Tell me what happened exactly."

"He looked tired, so I convinced him to take a nap. He didn't put up much of a fight so I figured he really was tired. I helped get in his bed and he was out like in five minutes." Peter was glad Elizabeth couldn't see him roll his eyes. "I was downstairs chatting with June. I went back up about one hour later and his bed was empty.…" Elizabeth sobbed. "Oh Peter, do you think he ran? He's in no shape to do that, his shoulder.…" Elizabeth was crying.

Peter winced. He was going to kill Caffrey. He understood that being smothered to death was unnerving, but it didn't justify the level of anguish he was putting his wife through.

"El, honey, please, calm down. I'm already leaving the office. I'm going straight to June's place. I'll find him. You go home."

"But Peter.…"

"No, you go home, honey. Take a nice relaxing bath, make yourself some tea. I'll find him, I promise. You know I always do. As soon as I have news I'll call you. We'll probably need to talk some, so I'd rather be alone with him. Okay, hon?"

"You won't hurt him?" Elizabeth asked, suddenly worried.

"Of course not. He cannot be very far. As you said he's in no shape to wander. I'll pull up his tracking data and find him." Peter winced as he said this. He hated lying to El, but he wasn't going to tell her Neal was still at June's place. He needed to give the guy a break, check what had happened that made Neal bolt, and then try and fix it. The evening was going to be fun.…

"Okay, I'll go home. Call me as soon as you've found him." Elizabeth disconnected the phone.

When Peter arrived at the mansion, Elizabeth had left and June opened the door with a worried look.

"Peter."

"Hi, June. It seems our favorite con man has run again."

June smiled. "You can't keep him caged … and this house does have quite a few escape routes. Neal knows them all." Though worried, the old lady seemed to think Neal's disappearance was more funny than serious.

"I'll find him," Peter repeated and went up the stairs to the loft.

He opened the door slowly. He hadn't come to the loft after bringing Neal back from the hospital. He winced as he saw the place. No wonder Neal had bolted. Elizabeth had turned the apartment into a recovery room straight out of a magazine. Fluffy pillows crowded the bed; Elizabeth's handmade patchwork was thrown on the couch; there were books and magazines piled on the coffee table. Plants adorned the kitchen. A basket with snacks and teas was on the table. The chairs were pushed to clear the way so that Neal could move around without bumping into anything. The way they had moved the stuff, he could probably move around with his eyes closed.…

He looked around, wondering where Neal could have gone to get some privacy. He looked at the ladder against the wall. He had always wondered where it led. He lifted his head. Sure enough, the trap door wasn't locked. He smiled and went up the steps.

He pushed the door, getting to some sort of small attic, and went to the door leading to the roof. A wide ledge allowed moving around, meant to give access to workers needing to fix the roof. Neal was sitting against a wall, a sketch book on his lap, his hand busy drawing.

"Hi, Peter," he said without lifting his head.

Peter chuckled. "You're making this way too easy, you know. You're gonna lose your reputation."

"Nah.… You're the only one who can find me." Neal looked up with a smile. "Come over, sit down. Enjoy the peace and the view."

Peter had always been overwhelmed by the view from the terrace, but this was … he actually had no words. If the view from the terrace was the million dollar view, then this would be like the billion dollar view.… Being on top of the house with no railings or low wall made you feel like you were flying over the city. He expelled a deep breath through his mouth.

"You never told me about this."

"A guy's gotta keep some secrets," Neal answered with mischievous eyes.

Peter sat by his side and looked at the sketch. "Nice."

"I always wanted to paint the view from here. Never had the opportunity."

"So you thought today was the right day?"

"Something like that," Neal muttered. "Oh, this is for you." Neal handed him a beer.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd find me, so I thought you'd deserve a reward."

"Well, since it's gift time. I have a little something for you." Peter put his hand to his pocket and handed him a small thermos bottle.

Neal turned pale. "Peter, is this…?" He couldn't believe his luck.

"Yeah. Figured Elizabeth had it banned."

Neal opened the thermos and took a long draft of the coffee. He closed his eyes and moaned deeply, letting his head drop against the wall behind him in almost orgasmic bliss. Peter chuckled.

"If you want me to leave you alone with that bottle.…"

"Oh god, Peter." Neal took another swallow. "Thank you."

"Thank you for the beer!" Peter opened the screw top and took a swig. "How come you have beer up here?" Peter asked with a slight frown.

Neal rolled his eyes. "Peter, I may be a bit cranky with all the mother-hen circus down there, but I don't mix alcohol and drugs. You know I'm not much of a beer guy anyway. Apparently Elizabeth and her crew know that too, because it's been sitting in the fridge for quite a while. When I decided to come up here, I took it for you. This is a nice place for a drink."

"'Elizabeth and her crew'," Peter repeated.

"Peter, I know they mean well and are full of good intentions, but they're killing me. It's like all the characters from Little Women came down on me. I expect them to appear with a basket of kittens at any time."

"So you're Beth now?"

"I don't know, but I'm starting to pity that girl.…"

"It didn't end well for her."

"Yeah, she was lucky.…" Neal mumbled with a shiver.

"That bad?" Peter asked, sympathetic.

"You're married to Elizabeth, so I'd think you know. What's with the coffee anyway?"

"Never figured that one out. Elizabeth seems to be convinced that coffee is a poison when you are sick and apparently it expands to being hurt or wounded … I can understand the need to watch caffeine the first days, or with some medications, but otherwise.… You know, I think one of the reasons I'm almost never sick is that I know that I'll be denied coffee for as long as I'm not a hundred percent on my feet."

The two men chuckled. Neal sipped his coffee, Peter his beer, in companionable silence.

"She washed my hair yesterday," Neal told Peter.

"With the full scalp massage?"

"Yeah.…" He sighed.

"She's good with that." Peter had a pleasured smile. "Actually, she's pretty good with her hands."

"Peter!"

"What?"

"She's your wife; I'm not sure I want to know what she's good at with her hands."

"Just thought you'd need some male bonding after the hearts and pink ribbons of the last days…."

"I'm sure we can bond over topics other than your sex life.…" Neal muttered. He never felt comfortable with Peter and Elizabeth's easy relationship. He always thought some private stuff needed to remain … private.

"El likes you, Neal. Your being suddenly vulnerable makes her feel protective. She'd probably cuddle you to sleep if she could get away with it. We don't have kids so you're giving her a chance to use her mother instinct."

"I don't really blame her, Peter. It's just a bit overwhelming. I am not a kid … or a puppy.…" Neal dropped his head to look at his sketch.

"How did you make it up that ladder anyway?" Peter asked suddenly.

"It was—

"Reckless … dangerous … stupid thing to do.…"

Neal ignored the sarcasm. "Tricky… It was not easy, but I managed. Your bottle and the pencils in my pocket, my sketch book inside my pants waist … one step at a time, holding only with my right hand. It was actually easier than going down that fire escape back at the storage place… Actually I was more worried about Elizabeth showing up suddenly. I would have been in trouble…" Neal raised his head to look at Peter, worried. "Now that I think of it, I'm lucky it's my shoulder. If this had happened when we came back from Cape Verde.…" He shivered in fear.

"You're lucky you healed fast," agreed Peter.

"Yeah…"

Peter scrunched his eyes at the tone. He had indeed healed fast, especially for a gunshot that was treated that poorly. He looked at Neal who was correcting an angle on his sketch. Maybe it hadn't healed that fast after all… Oh, well. He wasn't going to blame the guy for that now. He looked at the sketch and back to the buildings.

"God, that view," whispered Peter.

"Yeah."

"I should be mad at you, you know."

"Why? You didn't really think I had run? Come on, I know you. The second Elizabeth called, you were checking my anklet."

"You made her cry."

Neal winced. "Really cry?" Peter nodded. "Ouch, never thought she'd react that bad."

"I think she's tired; that was kind of the last straw."

"But Peter, I never asked.…"

"I know, I know… She did this to herself."

"Where is she now?"

"I told her to go home and take a relaxing bath. I'll pick up some flowers on the way—and send you the bill—and I'll spend the weekend with her. It will be nice to spend some quality time together … and that will keep her out of your hair."

"I'm sorry, Peter," Neal said in a soft voice. "Will you apologize to Elizabeth for me?" He sighed, frowning. "I'll get her up here, show her the view. I'm hoping she'll like it and understand."

"Not a chance."

Neal gave him a questioning look.

"My wife can face armed robbers with nothing but a smile, but you won't get her up here."

"Heights fear?"

"Yeah…" Peter shook his head, chuckling. "And I don't see how she could make it up that ladder with those heels she likes to wear."

Neal chuckled. "At least you're sure she can't run away."

Peter finished his beer, Neal his coffee, and they went back to the room.

"Enjoy the freedom," Peter told him as he dialed Elizabeth to let her know he had found Neal. "I'm calling Mozzie to ask him to bring you take-out food."

Neal shot him a dark look, "Peter, please, not you too…"

Peter returned the stare and made the call. Neal let it drop, Mozzie would be arriving in a couple of hours, but in the meantime, he could have some time alone. He needed to think of a proper way to apologize to Elizabeth.

A few days later, Elizabeth dropped by for a short visit. Apparently Peter had convinced her that Neal was doing better and didn't need twenty-four/seven assistance.

"Elizabeth, I wanted to thank you for taking care of me and also to apologize for the fright when I … disappeared." He handed her a small package.

Elizabeth opened it, curious, and remained speechless, her mouth open. Neal had painted the view from the rooftop at sunset. The deep golden colors of the evening seemed to glow right out of the canvas.

"Neal, this is…" She apparently couldn't find the words. She hugged him. "Thank you."

"Thank you for taking care of me so well."

Neal returned to the office two weeks later; his arm was still in the sling but he had convinced Peter that he could do some light work. He opened the door and sighed in happiness. He dropped his hat on his desk and went to say hello to Jones and Diana. The agents were glad to see him back and teased him about all the files they had saved especially for him.

"Yeah, right, whatever…" Neal shook his head and looked up to Peter's office. The agent gave him a hand signal to come up.

"Welcome back, Neal. So how does it feel waking up early to go to work?" Peter teased.

"Never felt better," Neal confirmed with a satisfied sigh. "Something for me to work on?"

"I left a few files on your desk."

"Mortgage fraud?" Neal asked with a smile.

"Old cases I'd like you to go over. Since you will not be allowed in the field for another four weeks at least, I've got to keep you busy."

"Okay. I understand." Neal nodded. He seemed hesitant for a few seconds. "Peter, I want to thank you for helping me get through this."

"Anytime, I realize it was difficult for you."

"I... uh... I seem to remember you being there when I woke up from the surgery... It's pretty fuzzy."

Peter chuckled. "Yes, you were quite out of it. You didn't sing though."

Neal winced. "Amen for that. Did you... I..." He frowned. "Did you actually have the nerve to ask me how I had hurt my shoulder the fourth time?"

Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. "You did tell me I would need to get you drunk. That was the closest I could get."

"That's low, Peter. And unadmissable, you realize that?"

"Everything isn't about work, Neal. A little personal enjoyment is always gratifying. And come on it's not that big a deal," Peter answered with a small smile.

Neal squinted his eyes looking at him closely. "Nice try. I didn't tell you anything, right?" he guessed.

Peter laughed out loud this time. "No. You were totally out of it but still holding to the 5th. It was actually funny when you tried to quote the full article to me."

Neal shook his head in amusement. "Forget about it. Oh, and Peter, I need to tell you something.…"

Peter frowned, worried at change in the tone. "Yes?"

"Next time I get hurt and need surgery … I'm cutting my anklet and running away."

The end


End file.
